


52 Weeks

by RiverBracken



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-24 00:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19712755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverBracken/pseuds/RiverBracken
Summary: Enjolras donates one of his kidneys to a complete stranger in need. That is only the beginning.





	1. The world chews up idealistic people

**Author's Note:**

> So I keep seeing things in the news or generally in life that remind me of Les Mis. So I set myself the challenge of incorporating one of these stories into a chapter each week for a year. It's kind of like a 'choose your own adventure' because there are so many directions the story could go depending what I see each week! While the plot isn't set, the relationships are, and more relationships and characters will be added as we go until everyone is there! 
> 
> Some use of swearing this week.

Enjolras awoke to find a hand in his own. A hand with well-kept, manicured fingernails. A hand he knew well.

“If there was a bet on which one of us would have run away and sold their kidney on the internet, I think everyone would have bet on me.” 

Enjolras croaked back “Didn’t sell it…gave it up for free.” He finally felt well enough to open his eyes, finding Courfeyrac sitting so close he was almost in his hospital bed. 

“Well if we include that little detail people would bet on you every time.” Courfeyrac smiled down at Enjolras before sliding himself onto the hospital bed, fitting himself into the impossibly tiny space between Enjolras and the edge of the bed. 

“Your dad is pissed, you know.” Enjolras rolled his eyes. 

“Of course he is. He is always angry about something. It’s the only way he knows how to be.” Enjolras had known his father would be mad, or disappointed, or most likely both. He’d given up on ever getting his dad’s approval a long time ago. Still, a small part of him kind of wished that one day he would get it. If he just tried harder, was better, he would make his father see what the world could look like. Courfeyrac brushed the curls away from his forehead and started absent-mindedly playing with them. 

“So, do you know who your organ is in now?” Courf grinned, Enjolras groaned. 

“You planned that didn’t you?”

“Hey, I had a lot of time waiting for you to wake up. Also, Mister since you ran away and didn’t tell me, your best friend, that you were giving away a vital organ you have a lot of making up to do. So you are going to lie there while you recover and listen to my excellent jokes.” Enjolras felt like correcting him that of course it wasn’t a vital organ, but Courfeyrac had a point, he should probably have told him what he was planning. Instead he changed the subject. 

“They won’t tell me anything about them. It’s up to them whether they ever want to meet me.”

“Oooh how mysterious. So you don’t even know if they are a kid, or an astronaut, or if like your kidney is in the next President?” Courf started jiggling the bed in excitement. 

“No, and I probably will never know.” Courfeyrac sighed and dropped back down into the bed, snuggling into Enjolras’s side. Enjolras was struggling to keep his eyes open. His stitches were beginning to hurt. Courf lay his head on Enjolras’s shoulder, throwing an arm around his waist. 

“Fine, I know you are too stubborn to admit you are curious. I just want you to know though that you are amazing, giving up a part of you to someone you don’t even know. But if you ever sneak off and have surgery again without telling me Enjy, I will never ever talk to you again.” Enjolras nodded slightly, before finally closing his eyes. He really wanted to promise Courfeyrac he would never sneak off again, but he knew that it was a promise he was unlikely to keep. 

Grantaire awoke to find a hand in his own. A hand with short stubby fingers. A hand he knew well. 

“So I know you are too ill for me to strangle now, but really Grantaire were you ever going to tell me that you were sick?” Grantaire groaned but kept his eyes closed. He had wanted to tell Joly, of course he had, but fuck did he not want his sympathy. He felt a little guilty for not telling Joly, but it was still way better than months of fussing. 

Joly continued “Everything went well as expected. Your body hasn’t rejected the kidney but you will still need to be careful over the next couple of weeks and actually follow the doctor’s instructions. I know that’s difficult for you, following advice, but you really really need to. Your health is not a game Grantaire.” Grantaire didn’t deserve Joly as a friend. They had been friend’s at school when choices were limited. You were stuck with the same bunch of people for years on end, and if they weren’t ‘your people’ it was torture. Joly shouldn’t be stuck with Grantaire forever just because he was the only one in the school who could stand him. 

“This is definitely the longest you have ever been quiet.” Grantaire snorted at that. 

“Maybe it’s this other guys’ kidney rubbing off on me. Infecting my whole personality.” His voice was crackly from misuse and he was mostly joking. But with Grantaire, there was always a grain of truth in his jokes. This was meant to be a life-changing moment right? Like how many people are given second chances? Wasn’t he meant to stop drinking? Stop smoking? And actually get into shape? That wasn’t Grantaire. He had spent the last couple of months believing he was going to die. With no family who matched with him, he had no relatives who could act as a donor. Instead he had spent months waiting for a phone call telling him that someone had died tragically young and still with a functioning kidney. It was enough to do anyone’s head in. Being told that you were dying, and the only way you could survive was someone else dying? It almost sounded medieval. 

“Well interestingly, I was chatting to your scrub nurse, we went to university together, and she said that your kidney, and it is your kidney Grantaire not someone else’s it’s in your body, was donated by a good Samaritan. You can look them up if you want. Clearly, they can’t give the details to me. But from what Kelly said they just reached out to the hospital and offered to donate a kidney, because they wanted to make a real difference in the world. Isn’t that amazing?” Joly sounded genuinely amazed that anyone would do that. All Grantaire felt was pressure. Joly must have been able to sense that as he squeezed Grantaire’s hand tight. 

“It’s all good. I’m sorry that was probably too much.” Once again, Joly was just too good for Grantaire. He didn’t know what he had done right in life to have such an amazing friend. Joly released Grantaire’s hand, placing it neatly and gently back down on the sheet. 

“Sleep, you’ll feel better. You always do.”

“Joly….thanks for you know…not letting me wake up alone.” Joly gave him a huge smile. 

“Anytime Grantaire.” With that Joly slipped off, probably to gossip with the nurses on shift. Grantaire snuggled back into his pillow. Maybe with Joly by his side he would be okay, even in this strange new world where complete strangers just give parts of their bodies to guys they don’t even know. Grantaire had never been one for hope. But maybe, just maybe, he might not go back to getting black-out drunk every second night. Maybe he could go back and finish his degree. Maybe all of humanity isn’t doomed, and people really aren’t as bad as he thought. For the first time in his life Grantaire gave into cliché, and thought maybe when he woke up it could be a new beginning. 

Three years later  
Grantaire awoke, with no hand in his. He felt empty, though that could have been because the last thing he remembered was vomiting his guts out while hugging the toilet seat. He realised now he was still laying on the bathroom floor. He missed Joly. And fuck, did he hate humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title this week is a quote from The Good Wife. 
> 
> The kidney donation story is in the news a lot and I heard it again this week driving to work. 'How to save a stranger's life' from the Future Perfect podcast is probably the best explanation. 
> 
> Having Enjolras donate a kidney and Grantaire be uncomfortable receiving it is a headcanon I have had for a while, so glad I at least got it out there.


	2. Poke and Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trial, an idea and a snuggle-session, with a few new characters added along the way. 
> 
> Language warning again for this chapter.

'Hi, saw the news. Hope you and Celeste are OK.'   
Enjolras hit send before he could rethink it and sagged onto the wall behind him. He’d seen the details of the shooting on the news, and knew it was quite close to where his father lived. Four dead, multiple injuries. Still he couldn’t bring himself to actually call his father and see if he was one of the injured or worse. Shame filled his stomach. He sighed and pushed it down. He had a case to win, and had wasted way too much of his life thinking about his dad. 

Pocketing his phone, he headed back into the courtroom to find Courfeyrac doing what he does best; talking. Beside him sat their client, Simi, in a purple suit that Jehan had managed to source for them from all the local second-hand stores (it was probably the happiest Jehan had ever been with an assignment that Enjolras had given them). While Courf was doing his very best to distract Simi, Enjolras could see that he was still really nervous. It probably didn’t help that Montparnasse was deliberately trying to stare down Simi from across the room. Sighing, Enjolras moved between the two, so that Montparnasse could no longer see Simi. Instead, his smirk was now directed at Enjolras. Enjolras glared back. Montparnasse held the glare until the Judge re-entered the room, giving Enjolras a wink before turning to talk to his lawyer. Judge Mabeuf took his seat, motioning for the rest of the court room to do the same.

“It has come to my attention that despite my constant admonishments, there are still those in my courtroom live-tweeting this trial.” Judge Mabeuf didn’t have to shout to have authority. He did however look tired. “I remind you that tweeting descriptions of the court may be used by the opposing council, so not only is it disrespectful but it is also stupid. Do you understand Mr Montparnasse?” Monparnasse did not look phased, still wearing his trade mark smirk. 

“I do understand your Honour. And may I respectfully remind you that I prefer to be addressed as Montparnasse, not Mr Montparnasse, but just Montparnasse. Like Cher.” Beside Enjolras, Courfeyrac snorted. Judge Mabeuf did not acknowledge the remark, instead inviting Enjolras to call his final witness. Enjolras rose out of his seat. 

“Thank-you your Honour. I would like to call Mr Montparnasse to the stand.” Enjolras half expected Montparnasse not to move given the vague shade he had sent his way, but Montparnasse made his way to the witness stand. Enjolras couldn’t wait to make him sweat, given the way Montparnasse’s lawyer had treated his own client. Simi, not the most educated man, had been turned in circles, contradicting himself and certainly denting their case. 

“Montparnasse, as the Court has heard your fulltime job is as a You-Tube influencer, is that correct?”

“It is. I have a huge number of subscribers who are all intrigued by my content and personal brand.” Enjolras stopped himself rolling his eyes at the personal brand remark. During the course of the trial Montparnasse had made many scathing remarks about Enjolras’s own style. Conversely, every time he saw Courfeyrac he praised his exquisite dress sense. Montparnasse could be charming when he wanted, but both Enjolras and Courfeyrac knew too well what he was really like. Now it was their job to show is true colours to Judge Mabeuf. 

“I understand that your subscriber numbers are impressive yes. You must feel under some pressure to keep your content fresh and exciting to keep your subscribers interesting.” Montparnasse raised one of his beautifully waxed eyebrows. 

“Fresh really? 

“Just answer the question Montparnasse” Judge Mabeuf sighed.

“Certainly, your Honour, though I would suggest it was not a question but more of a statement.”

“I would again remind you Montparnasse that you have a lawyer who is very good at his job. And it is his job to argue points like that, not you.”

“Of course, your Honour. No Mr Enjolras I do not feel under any pressure to keep up the quality of content on my channel. This is so much more than a job to me. It is my passion.”

“I’m sure it is Sir, but do the sponsors that support your particular brand of prank-based humour, feel the same?”

“Yes. My sponsors are always happy with my content. Some even begged to be involved with my channel and have me endorse them. Like down on their knees begged. So no I am under no pressure there either. I don’t know what to tell you Mr Enjolras, my life is stress-free and effortless. Or was until you decided to bring this ridiculous suit against me.” His constant smirk was beginning to get under Enjolras’s skin. 

“Well if you didn’t want my client to bring the suit against you, maybe you shouldn’t have filmed him, without his consent, eating a biscuit you poisoned.”

“Objection!” Montparnasse’s lawyer interjected. “Objection to the use of the word poison.” Enjolras had of course anticipated this.

“Your Honour. By scraping the cream off the Oreo biscuits and replacing it with toothpaste, Montparnasse made my client, a homeless individual who had not eaten for a day, vomit. This reaction is akin to him being poisoned, and all for a prank.” 

“While I sympathise with your client Mr Enjolras, I do think calling toothpaste poison might be a little dramatic. Objection sustained.” Montparnasse chose this moment to chime-in. 

“I agree he is overly dramatic your Honour.” 

“Montparnasse please keep your commentary to yourself.” The Judge had clearly had enough of Montparnasse’s comments. It was a strategy Courfeyrac had devised. Call Montparnasse to the stand and let his personality work against him. It was time for Enjolras to play his final winning card. 

“Mr Montparnasse, I’d like you to watch the following video. I think you’ll be familiar with what it shows.” Enjolras hit play. Montparnasse turned to look at the screen, to see himself talking to other member of Patron-Minette, convincing them that the next big step to make their channels a success would be a ‘homeless fightclub’. Judge Mabeuf’s face twisted in disgust as the footage showed Montparnasse describing how they would recruit homeless men to fight, film it, and sell tickets to live events. As the clip finished playing, Montparnasse struck out. 

“How the fuck did you get that footage! Who ratted me out?”

“A well-meaning citizen dropped it into our law firm once they heard about our case on your You-Tube channel.” That wasn’t quite true. Jehan had persuaded the teenager who had shot the footage to drop it in, but it certainly wasn’t out of altruism, more a wish for some quick easy cash. Enjolras continued, pushing his advantage. 

“So I put it to you Montparnasse that coercing my client into eating a tainted biscuit was just a first step into recruiting him to be part of your homeless persons fight club. Exploiting the most vulnerable in society for entertainment.” Montparnasse looked like he was going to explode. 

As expected, Montparnasse was found guilty and ordered to pay damages to Simi. The amount wasn’t huge, but enough to help him find some stable accommodation, which was something. Enjolras felt his phone vibrate. Looking down he found a text from his Uncle Marc.   
'Hi favourite nephew. Talked to your dad. He is fine. He doesn’t understand why anyone is worried.'  
Enjolras wasn’t even surprised. Of course his dad wouldn’t understand why anyone would worry or care for another human. He never had. Enjolras refused to let it get in the way of his good mood. He liked winning. Especially when he knew he was in the right.

Montparnasse slammed the door as he entered the apartment. It barely registered with Grantaire. He wasn’t drunk. Just happily tipsy, laying on a beanbag staring at the multitude of plants that dotted the apartment. It was a classy joint with whitewashed walls, that Grantaire would never be able to afford on his bartender salary. Montparnasse though could easily afford it, and for some reason liked having Grantaire around. 

Montparnasse sank onto the couch behind Grantaire, ripping open his laptop. 

“I take it the trial went well?” Grantaire did not get a reply. He didn’t expect one. The court case had been reported on, and he had seen the coverage and the post-case interview Montparnasse had done to limit the damage to his channel. Not that this would hurt his brand, just add some extra edge. Grantaire continued to drink. Montparnasse continued to furiously type on his laptop. This went on for a number of minutes, before Montparnasse’s laptop started blaring out the voice of a young man delivering a passionate political rant. Grantaire started giggling. His giggle was one of his most attractive qualities. 

“What the fuck are you listening to?” Montparnasse didn’t even look up from his screen. 

“It is that fucking lawyer that turned the Judge against me today. This is his channel with its pathetically small number of followers. Trying to find something to make his life miserable.” 

“His life is probably already miserable if he keeps spouting that bullshit. I mean it’s hilariously naïve.” Montparnasse was quiet for a moment. The political rantings kept filling the room, with an occasional giggle coming from Grantaire. 

“It really makes you laugh doesn’t it?” Montparnasse was still in thought. 

“Fuck yeah, I mean it sounds like he really thinks he can change the world.” Montparnasse closed his laptop and gracefully grabbed the bottle of wine off Grantaire, putting it to his own lips.

“You know” he drawled “I’ve been approached about making a scripted comedy. A Netflix executive was really impressed with my channel and wanted me to come on board. Maybe this is my show. A main character who is a lawyer who thinks he can change the world and keeps failing, with his bunch of misfit loser friends.” Grantaire looked up at him from his place in the beanbag, his curls falling over his eyes.

“I would totally watch that. Watching them naively try to navigate their hipster middle-class life problems, and guilt at being fucking alive, while trying to change the planet and failing every week. Fuck yeah! Like you could do one where they have an eating contest to raise money for hungry families and it massively backfires, or one where…” Montparnasse interrupted. 

“You should play the main character, this wanker lawyer.” 

“Well my particular style of bad acting is hilarious.” 

“No, I’m serious. You’d be good and you really get what I’m going for. Plus, you must be a good actor. You’re so ugly and yet you keep getting roles.” 

“Ouch, and yeah keep getting really minor roles so I can never quit bartending.” Montparnasse took another swig out of the wine-bottle.

“Well you also mix an excellent drink.” Grantaire moved up to sit next to him on the couch, grabbing back the bottle only to find it empty. 

“Come on though, you would be good. Like you were fucking awesome in that movie about the tattoo.” Grantaire rolled his eyes, and rolled up his sleeve to show his shoulder. The small poke and stick tattoo was still just visible. 

“Yep I’m so awesome I had to actually get the tattoo to act like I was getting a tattoo.” 

Montparnasse scoffed. “Does that say liberte? Because we should use that in the show.” 

“Ironic tattoos are always a winner” Grantaire grinned. “You know what? I’m in. If nothing else I do enjoy taking the piss out of idealists.” Montparnasse got up to grab another bottle of wine, so they could bounce ideas off each other deep into the night. 

Enjolras was sure he had gone to bed alone. Yet as he woke he could feel the warmth that could only come from another human body beside him. He opened one eye (it was too early to commit to opening two) to see a mess of tight black curls lying on the pillow beside him. The curls were close, too close. As Enjolras became more alert, he realised just how close he was to the person beside him. To his horror, his arm was snaked around the other man’s waist, with their legs pressed together. Slowly, fearing he would be mocked forever, Enjolras inched his arm away and back towards his own body. Just as he thought he had successfully got away with it, the other man’s hand wrapped around his wrist, yanking Enjolras’s arm back to its original position. 

“Mmm no moving” Courf grumbled “I’m enjoying you spooning me.”

“It’s not spooning” Enjolras sighed “you’re just so warm.”

“Aww you only love me for my body warmth. I’m so hurt!” 

“Always so dramatic” Enjolras sighed. He would never admit it out loud but he was enjoying being so close to his best friend. Since the election Enjolras had just felt like curling into a ball and hiding away from everything. He had never felt like this before – so powerless, so hopeless. He couldn’t bring himself to watch the news, or read political blogs. He used to devour politics, now he avoided it. He never thought it would come to this. He never thought a political loss would turn his insides black and make him curl up into a ball and hide away. Laying down next to Courf took all that away if only for a little while.

“Be nice to me” Courfeyrac demanded “I had the worst date ever last night. It was awful and it felt like it would never ever...ever…. ever end!”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Enjolras offered awkwardly. 

Courf snorted “Nah we both know you are shit at those conversations. Let’s just snuggle. That’s something you are good at, and with all your singleness it goes to waste.” They continued to lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness. It was a rare weekend that Enjolras took the time to sleep in. 

A knock at the door brought the snuggle session to an end too soon. Courf groaned as Enjolras rolled over, chucking on an old hoodie as he made his way to the door. He opened it to find a tall dark-haired man with glasses holding three cups of coffee in keep-cups. 

“Hello Enjolras, I have brought coffee for yourself and Courfeyrac.” The man’s voice was low and melodic but it still turned Enjolras cold. People he had never met did sometimes know his name because of his speeches, but how did he know his best friend was currently in his home? Courfeyrac appeared behind him, shirtless, and still wearing his rumpled jeans from last night.   
“Ooh coffee, excellent.” Courf had broken Enjolras out of his trance. 

“How do you know our names?” The man gave a slight smile. 

“I know a lot more than that. That’s why I’m here. I know, Courfeyrac that you drink a large mocha, Enjolras your order is a small double shot soy latte. I know that Courfeyrac went on a date last night with a man he met online, who he really didn’t seem compatible with, so it probably didn’t go well. When things don’t go well I know he comes to you Enjolras. You have been friends since university when Courfeyrac thought he saw a rat near his car and needed someone to chase it away. It turned out to be a mars-bar wrapper.” Silence met the man’s words, but neither Enjolras or Courfeyrac could stay quiet for long. 

“Did you hack Courfeyrac’s dating app?” Enjolras asked. The man smiled. 

“I don’t have to hack anything. Courfeyrac has given that information away for free on one of his five dating apps.” Enjolras turned to Courf. 

“You have five dating apps?” The man interjected before Courfeyrac could answer. 

“It’s really not the unusual. And perhaps a better strategy to find a partner than your own Enjolras of downloading an app, staying on it for a few days then deleting it again.” Enjolras blushed and stayed silent. The man continued. 

“You should slam the door in my face, but you won’t. Your curiosity Enjolras will outweigh any sense of self-preservation you may have. You’d hate for anyone to call you a coward. So instead I suggest you invite me in.” Enjolras swallowed and almost involuntarily moved out of the way to let the man into his living room where Courfeyrac for once stood speechless. 

“Thank-you” said the man taking the invitation to enter the room. “In return, I’ll give you a piece of information that few know. My name, my true name, is Combeferre.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the You-tuber giving a homeless man an oreo with toothpaste is based on a trial that happened earlier this year in Spain. 
> 
> The name of the chapter is taken from a type of tattoo that Lena Dunham describes. On a podcast with Justin Long she told the story of getting a tattoo as part of a movie so she didn't have to act like she was getting a tattoo, and it reminded me of Grantaire.

**Author's Note:**

> Title this week is a quote from The Good Wife. 
> 
> The kidney donation story is in the news a lot and I heard it again this week driving to work. 'How to save a stranger's life' from the Future Perfect podcast is probably the best explanation. 
> 
> Having Enjolras donate a kidney and Grantaire be uncomfortable receiving it is a headcanon I have had for a while, so glad I at least got it out there.


End file.
